


Baby, It's Magic

by Moosey



Series: Sterek Week 2016 [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Derek isn't a failwolf, Jock Derek, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic, POV Stiles, Robot Baby Simulation, Some Humor, Sterek Week 2016, SterekKids, not really - Freeform, slightly cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8358412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: “You’re working with Derek on the baby thing right?” Erica says.  “I was trying to forget about it actually, so thanks for the reminder,” Stiles replies, slumping back in his seat.“Oh like it’ll be such a chore,” Erica scoffs. “Woe is me I have to have a fake baby with a ridiculously hot guy, who, incidentally, is amazing with children. Seriously, my ovaries want to explode every time I see him with his nieces.” “Well I don’t have ovaries, so I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Stiles says.------Stiles and Derek are tasked with co-parenting a robot baby simulator as part of a Lacrosse team high school project. Of course, supernatural hi-jinx ensue...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I promise not all of my Sterek Week attempts are going to be long and rambling, it's just the first two!

No matter how much he braces himself for impact, Stiles Stilinski knows he is going _down_. 

He watches his fate approach him like a freight train, takes a moment to curse Scott for ever making him sign up for the Lacrosse team, tries to angle his body so that the impact won’t completely crush him, and finally, he holds his breath and waits for it to hit. 

And boy, does it hit. 

A solid shoulder slams into his, sending his fragile body spinning and knocks him down to the ground. Thankfully, his bracing means he doesn’t snap his teeth together or bite his tongue or anything when he lands, but his helmeted head still does a little bounce off the floor, and he’s pretty sure the world will be spinning if he ever opens his eyes again. 

He’s definitely lost the ball now.

“Jesus Bilinski!” Coach barks, appearing at Stiles’ side. “I’m suddenly remembering why I keep you on the bench.” 

Stiles opens his mouth and lets out a pitiful gurgling sound, sure he is dying. That this is it. No more Stiles. He just wishes his final moments didn’t have to come on a Lacrosse pitch. And that maybe he could die not a virgin too. That would be nice. He’s not asking for much.

“McCall, get him off the pitch!” Coach yells. Coach always yells. The man literally has no other volume than loud, and right now it makes Stiles want to cry. 

“Should we move him Coach?” Scott asks nervously, hovering beside Stiles. “What if he’s hurt?” 

“He’s fine McCall. It was barely a tap.”

“Okay Coach,” Scott says, sounding dubious. He hooks Stiles’ arm around his neck and uses his reedy little legs to lift them both up. “Come on dude,” Scott urges, breathing already laboured. 

Boyd, the behemoth who had tackled Stiles, gives a closed mouth smile and watches Scott and Stiles weave their way off the field to the bench, both slightly staggering because while Stiles may be lanky and slim, Scott doesn’t exactly have much muscle or strength to be hauling him around with. 

They are the new guys, the Sophomores, barely just past 16, and sharing the field with the entirety of the team that includes both the Juniors and Seniors - like Boyd - who were built like they’d actually successfully gone through puberty (and then some in Boyd’s case) and were cocky with it. 

At 147 pounds fully clothed and soaking wet, Stiles is at a distinct disadvantage and he knows it. He doesn’t even have speed on his side thanks to a penchant for tripping awkwardly over his over-sized feet. 

Scott settles him on the bench and helps him take his helmet off, handing him a bottle of water to chug at whilst Stiles glares angrily at Boyd, who is stretching nonchalantly and laughing with Isaac Lahey, another one of the Senior players. Both cronies to the star player and team captain, Derek Hale. Who is, Stiles suspects, a douche and a half. Though he’s never _actually_ spoken to him, in fact has only seen him in passing, and for the past few weeks since Lacrosse practise had started up Derek had been off from school, but Stiles just knows his suspicions will be proven right. And probably soon.

Because with friends like Boyd and Isaac, and their stupid smirking faces, how can he not be a jerk? 

Also he sometimes stares at Stiles as though he’s the root cause of all the problems in the world. Like it _pains_ Derek to have to even be in the same vicinity as him. Although, that could ostensibly just be Derek’s face, because he is King of Scowling - when he’s not smugly smirking - but Stiles is pretty sure he somehow personally offends the dude, and that’s just another reason why he is going to hold it over Scott’s head forever that he’s signed up to Lacrosse for him. Scott owes him so big.

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott asks quietly, shaking his asthma inhaler in one hand. He takes a hit off it, and holds his breath, eyes on Stiles waiting for a response. 

“Yeah I’m fine,” Stiles says, rolling his neck slightly and rubbing at it. Which is code for ‘no dude, I’m not okay,” and Scott knows that if his concerned expression is anything to go by. 

Stiles sees Jackson (okay so maybe it’s two Jackson’s. Everything is a bit blurred and surreal.) sidling up to Boyd and nodding in Stiles’ direction with a nasty little smile on his face, like he’s congratulating the guy for taking Stiles out or something, but Boyd just looks at Jackson with a blank expression, unblinking until Jackson backs off. It’s possible Boyd goes up in Stiles’ estimation a little bit for that. Jackson might be the most popular guy in the Sophomore year, but he still has nothing on the Seniors. 

School hierarchy and social convention mean that right now he’s a peon just like Stiles and Scott.Sure he’ll probably rule the school one day, but that day isn’t today. That makes Stiles smile a little. And then he swallows quickly feeling nauseated. 

“Uh Coach?” Scott calls out. 

“What is it McCall,” Coach barks, stomping over. 

“I don’t think he’s okay, he looks like he’s gonna barf.” 

“Jesus Bilinski. How many fingers am I holding up?” Coach says, voice actually soft for once. 

Stiles blinks rapidly and tries to unglue his tongue from his palate. “An amount of fingers?” he hedges, trying to get his eyes to focus but he just can’t seem to get a bead on Coach’s hand. 

“Aww Christ. He’s concussed. It’s a concussion. McCall get the nurse. Jeez Bilinski, what’s your skull made of? Paper Mache?”

“Could be Coach,” Stiles rasps, moving limply to let Coach lay him back on the bench. 

“Practise over guys, get your asses inside!” Coach snaps. Stiles’ eyes have fluttered closed, but he’s aware of where he is. It’s just less swimmy and disorienting to not see the sky wavering above him. He’s checked by the school nurse soon after that, and goes through the usual rigmarole of a concussion testing (it’s not his first concussion, by a long shot), and gets shipped off the the hospital just to be sure. That way the school can’t be held accountable for anything, Stiles assumes. His dad gets called, Momma McCall gives him that special smile she reserves for Stiles’ moments of idiocy; to be fair, they do happen a lot. Finally he and Scott are sent home with strict orders from the Sheriff for Stiles to do whatever Scott says, not to complain about being babysat, and to rest without playing video games for at least 48 hours. 

The only plus side, as far as Stiles can see, is that it means no school. At least there’s that. 

****

He’s benched for another week, not even allowed to participate in practise, so Coach makes him a deal. The Principal wants the Lacross team to get more involved in setting a good example for the school populous, and so they’ve been tasked with school participation. A bake sale to raise money for the band, getting involved in promoting literacy, working at a safe sex booth are just some of the options presented to them. And Stiles? Stiles’ job is to coordinate the team and the activities. He signs certain team members up for different things, knowing Scott would be bomb at selling baked goods but would turn into a stammering idiot at the safe sex booth, and Jackson… well Stiles will find somewhere to stuff him. Even if Jackson’s personality is such that it should never be unleashed on poor unsuspecting bystanders if possible, he’s pretty enough to draw a crowd as long as he doesn’t open his mouth.

So Stiles tasks the team to head off and participate, all whilst he gets to sit comfortably behind Coach’s desk and grin at their baleful glares and petulant groaning. It’s a power trip, and honestly? He loves it. 

His favourite part though, is still yet to come. The school want a few students to get involved in a parenting project, and then offer up presentations on exactly how difficult teen parenting really is, to give their peers an overview of the dangers of teen pregnancy, and to promote safe sex. And the Principal, as dumb as Stiles finds the overall idea, is smarter than Stiles gave him credit for. Because he wants the sports teams to be the ones taking part in this project, as they’re by and large, quote unquote, _the cool kids_. The popular ones, who have influence and reach amongst the student body. 

The Lacrosse team get selected to do the parenting project first, so Stiles assigns the team with babies. Robotic babies, that will screech and cry and demand attention, just like the real thing, only with creepy dead eyes and substantially less bodily fluids involved. They’re all going to get a crash course in co-parenting, and because Coach decides to use it as a team building exercise and they don’t have enough robots to go around, they’re going to be same-sex co-parenting to boot. 

He hands in the list to Coach, proverbially patting himself on the back for a job well done, before strolling out to meet Scotty outside the locker rooms. 

“Dude. Your baby daddy is gonna be Danny,” Stiles says, falling in to step with Scott. “He seems like he’d be a good co-parent, and he’s the least douchey guy on the team, present company excluded,” Stiles grins. 

“Who’d you get?” Scott asks, face scrunching up.

“Dude no. I am not fit to be a parent, even to robot spawn. I’m just the co-ordinator.” 

“How is that fair again?” Scott asks. 

“It isn’t,” Stiles says with a grin, “but that’s how the chips fall my friend.” 

“I thought we’d be daddies together,” Scott says, sounding slightly forlorn. 

“And we’d call our baby Indiana or something equally cool,” Stiles nods. Scott pulls a little face. “Dude, Danny will be a good partner. Don’t worry about it. It’ll all be fine.” 

****

Predictably, it is _not_ all fine. 

Stiles was stupid, and had made a Very Big Error. 

He should have thrown himself sacrificial-stylee on the alter of parenthood and partnered himself up with Scott. He should have just volunteered to be a parent, bitten the bullet, and had a baby with his best bro. They would have been awesome dads together. The robo-baby would have been _lucky._ Any kid would be lucky to have a Scott&Stiles parental unit.

Instead, Stiles has to haul himself into Coach’s office, having officially been forced back into actual practice sessions now, and all he wants is a shower and maybe an ice bath and to never have to move ever again. He isn’t exactly asking for much. 

“S’up Coach?” he says, rounding the doorframe and tugging his pads off of his arms whilst trying to keep a hold of his stick. He is probably stinky. He feels stinky. 

“Bilinski, meet the father of your child,” Coach announces, grinning broadly behind his desk. 

Stiles makes an outraged squawk of a sound and his stick clatters to the floor, falling from his now-slack grip. “What?!” he yelps, eyes darting to the other guy sitting in the room that Stiles had, somehow, up to now managed to not notice. In spite of his bulk taking up _quite a lot of space_. “Who? Why? Coach! We agreed I would just coordinate!” 

“Did we? I don’t remember making any agreements with you Bilinski. Now I’m telling you, this is your partner, Derek Hale. And you’d both better be the best damn parents we have in this school, okay?” 

Stiles narrows his eyes at Coach, but keeps his mouth shut. Derek, for his part, doesn’t exactly look thrilled either, but Stiles knows that the grumpy face is just be his default setting, so he isn’t going to take it personally. 

That’s a lie. He’s totally taking it personally.

Stiles stares for a moment, opening his mouth to argue back, but stops himself just in time. He closes his mouth, presses his lips together and exhales heavily. “Fine Coach, sure thing. Can I shower now?” Stiles asks, resigned and yet sounding just mutinous enough for Coach to give him a warning glare. He waves his hand imperiously, dismissing Stiles, and both Coach and Derek just watch as Stiles scoops up his stick and pads with a minimal of flailing - he’s too angry to flail - and stomps off to the showers. 

“Dude,” he hisses to Scott when they’re re-dressing. He’s putting on his deodorant under his shirt, and yep, he’s still pissed. “Finstock is making me co-parent with Hale,” Stiles complains. 

“Ouch,” Scott says, exuding solidarity. 

“Didn’t even give me a choice or anything, just _commanded_ me. He’s not the boss of me! I swear to God, I wanna go back in there and shove my lacrosse stick right up his-”

“Stiles?” 

Stiles jerks around, dropping his deodorant, and hits his shoulder against the corner of his open locker. Gasps and claps a hand around the throbbing pain. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, glaring at Derek. Good start. “Make some damn noise when you walk,” he barks. He shoves his stuff in his locker aggressively and slams it shut, still glowering. He just knows when he opens it tomorrow it’s going to be like an avalanche of smelly boy things. But that’s tomorrow Stiles’ issue, not his. 

Derek, the jerk, just looks vaguely amused. But mostly irritated, and a little like something smells bad.

“Give me your phone,” Derek says, taking his hand out of the pocket of his (tight. So tight.) jeans and holding it out, palm up. 

Stiles looks down at it, then back up at Derek. “Was there a request in there somewhere? The lack of the word ‘please,’ and, you know, a question mark imply a statement, but I’m pretty sure you actually meant to _ask_ for my phone.” 

Derek just looks at him, waiting, this time with his eyebrows raised. 

“Fine,” Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes and slapping his phone into Derek’s outstretched hand. He silently glowers as Derek taps away at Stiles’ phone before handing it back over. 

Stiles feels a little like he’s being immature, though in his defence he’s only 16 years old, but decides to take the high road and attempt to not be a spectacularly petulant asshole. “So uh, hey, how come you haven’t been in school?” Stiles asks, pocketing his phone. He’s never actually stood in such proximity to Derek before, and he’s kind of taken aback by how good he smells. Granted the general funk of the boys locker room might be distorting that a little, because lets be honest. Amid the sock and sweat stench, almost anything would smell good. 

Still, Stiles stares absently as Derek frowns, and thinks for a moment that Derek is going to ignore the question entirely and walk away. 

“Family stuff,” he finally says, giving as little as possible whilst still technically answering the question. Annoying. 

It must show on Stiles’ face, because Derek’s lips curl into a little smirk, and he crosses his arms. “It kills you to not know the answer to stuff, doesn’t it?” 

“To _interesting_ stuff, maybe,” Stiles scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Your little family vacation doesn’t really rate though.

Derek chuckles and takes a step back. “Oh if only you knew,” he drawls, walking back. 

And just like that Stiles’ interest is piqued. 

Damn it! 

****

He’s slumped over a desk in the library a few days later, attention rapt on the book he has open on the desk before him, eyes darting back and forth devouring every word. He has a few others open too, but they’d all faded into the background as he came across a fascinating case study on prisoners in the USA, that has literally nothing to do with his Econ essay, at all. 

Not even a little bit, but he’s sure he’ll find a tangential way to drop it in. He’s Stiles Stilinski after all.

“I’m seriously considering just dropping everything and going to live in the forest,” a voice says, accompanied by a bag slamming down on the table. Stiles blinks dumbly at the hot blonde girl who is now pouring herself into the seat next to his. “I genuinely might _kill_ Harris one of these days,” she growls. 

“Uh…” 

The blonde lifts her skinny jean clad long legs, and having kicked off her high heels under the table, braces her feet on the edge of Stiles’ chair. “Eloquent,” she says, lifting a perfectly groomed brow. Her lips are full and pouty, and she manages to purse them mockingly at Stiles. 

“One day you’re going to look back on that moment of silence, and you’ll miss it. Everyone who knows me eventually does,” Stiles says, tapping his pen against the book. “So not that I don’t appreciate the company, because who the hell wouldn’t, but who are you?” 

“Erica.” 

“Erica… Erica Reyes?” 

“Yep.” 

“Oh. Uh, I mean, wow. Yeah. It’s been a while. You look…” 

“I look?” she prompts, voice syrupy. 

“Amazing?” Stiles tries, body tensing as her hand comes out to slide around his neck. She’s leaning forward now, and her cleavage is pressing against her knees. Stiles blinks and fixes his gaze on her rich dark brown eyes, nervous at the feel of her long nails lightly curled against his skin. He _refuses_ to give into his hormonally driven impulse to look down her shirt. He’s a bigger man than that.

She smirks like she knows exactly why Stiles is staring to intently into her eyes - of course she does, it’s obvious as hell - and chuckles. “I had the biggest crush on you Stiles,” she says, sitting back in her seat. She tucks her toes under his thigh, and gives him a sad smile. “I don’t think you even noticed I existed.” 

“Erica,” Stiles frowns, turning in his seat a little. “I remember you. Of course I do, but you’ve been gone a while. I didn’t think you were coming back to school…” 

“Of course you remember me,” she says, frowning. “Everyone remembers the girl who pissed herself in class,” she says, voice bitter. “Doesn’t matter that I was seizing at the time though, that I _could have_ _died_.” 

“You know, I actually remember you from when we were kids. When you insisted on climbing to the top of the climbing frame. We were 8, I think. You were afraid, but you got it in your head you had to do it. And again with the rock wall in gym last year. I remember you for how you never let anything stop you.” 

“And now _I’m_ remembering why I had such a big crush,” she says quietly. 

“Don’t backslide now Reyes,” Isaac Lahey says, appearing from nowhere and tugging on one of her blonde curls. “You’ve moved on to bigger and better things.” 

Stiles barely stops himself from groaning aloud as Isaac moves around and sits on the chair opposite Erica, stupid little smirk on his stupid sculpted face, stupid non-weather appropriate scarf around his stupid scrawny neck. 

“Be nice Isaac,” Erica chastises, “I like this one. I’m keeping him,” she says, reaching forward and throwing her arms around Stiles’ neck, smooshing the side of her face against his. 

“Not exactly a pet you know guys,” Stiles says, letting himself be hugged. He wonders how Erica and Isaac knew each other, and what Erica has been doing in the year or so she’d been gone from school. Aside from the bombshell make-over.

“There’s no real point in arguing.” Enter Boyd, approaching from behind Stiles. He drops a heavy hand on Stiles’ shoulder for a moment, and drops a kiss on the crown of Erica’s head. “Accept the inevitable Stilinski.” 

“Oh believe me I am, right now, at this very exact moment. This is me accepting my fate,” he sighs, looking around at his now mostly full table. “Any particular reason why your little leather gang has decided to invade my table?” 

“I didn’t see your name on the table,” Isaac retorts. Stiles narrows his eyes and looks at Isaac, not even willing to dignify that with a response. 

“You’re working with Derek on the baby thing right?” Erica says, leaning back against Boyd, but keeping her feet on Stiles’ chair. Boyd curls an arm around her and their laced fingers rest on her abdomen. So _that’s_ how she knows Isaac. 

“I was trying to forget about it actually, so thanks for the reminder,” Stiles replies, slumping back in his seat and giving up on the idea of getting any research for this paper done for the moment. 

“Oh like it’ll be such a chore,” Erica scoffs. “Woe is me I have to have a fake baby with a ridiculously hot guy, who, incidentally, is _amazing_ with children. Seriously, my ovaries want to explode _every_ time I see him with his nieces.” 

“Well I don’t have ovaries, so I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Stiles says.“Unless he decides to murder me to death with his angry eyebrows for like, breathing his air. But no organ explosions at all.”

Erica cocks her head and grins at him, like she knows something he doesn’t, and lowers her feet back into her shoes. “Come on boys, we should leave Stiles to his work,” she says, standing and squeezing the back of his neck. Boyd follows her as she sashays away, doing the shoulder squeeze again as he passes, and Isaac scruffs up Stiles’ hair, smirking as Stiles tries fruitlessly to flatten it down with his palm.

He gives up and drops his head to the table, the smell of slightly musty book filling up his nostrils, and lets out a long sigh. He thinks he might have preferred it before the little merry band of cronies knew he existed, even though they actually seem mostly okay. Isaac still sucks, but Erica is kind of fearsome but in a good way, and Boyd… Well, Boyd seems like a good guy. 

Stiles takes another moment before straightening, then lets out a yell and flails back, hands waving to catch himself before he can topple off his seat. Derek lunges forward, grabbing a nearly perpendicular Stiles and hauling him back upright. He looks amused as Stiles slaps at his hands to get them away from his chest, where they’re curled in the excess fabric of Stiles’ loose shirt. 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Stiles pants, hand now over his heart. “I think I’m dead. Am I dead? Did I die?” 

“You aren’t dead Stiles,” Derek says, picking up his bag and settling it on the table. Stiles is confused when he starts extracting books and looks like he’s about to stay. Why would he want to sit with Stiles? Derek and Stiles don’t sit together. This is not a thing they do.

“Oh sure Derek, just join me at my table, no need to ask, though why would you when your little gang didn’t bother either. At least they didn’t try to kill me first.” 

“My little gang?” 

“You know. They-who-wear-ridiculous-amounts-of-leather?” 

Derek chuffs a little laugh, and shrugs out of his own leather jacket, hooking it over the back of his chair. Stiles decides he immediately regrets everything ever in his life when he sees the soft maroon sweater Derek has on underneath, tight across his shoulders. He’s only human, and a sexually confused teenage boy to boot. Witnessing such hotness is just unfair. 

Though the sexual confusion is rapidly clearing itself right on up. 

At least he can thank Derek for that he supposes, having a life-changing, revelatory dawning of awareness in the school library. He feels like it should maybe be more memorable than this, like a lightning bolt of realisation, but instead it’s just like the muddled cloudiness of his brain is lifting, and he’s aware that yes. Derek Hale is very attractive, and not just in an objective way. In an I-want-that-all-over-me-can-I-rub-my-face-on-him way.

Derek frowns at him, looking at Stiles like he thinks he might be insane. That’s a far more familiar expression from Derek. And it’s probably because Stiles has frozen mid-stare. With his mouth open. 

Stiles blinks quickly and closes his mouth, twisting to stare back down at his book, though the words are basically blurring to him right now. “It’s not like, some kind of pre-requisite for us to hang out just because we’re going to be parents together you know,” Stiles says, reaching for another book. 

“I’m aware of that, yeah,” Derek agrees, hunching over the desk and resting his head in his hand, turning the page of his open book slowly. He grabs a pencil and scrawls in the margin. 

Stiles immediately wants to know what he’s studying, because he’s nosey like that. 

He tries to surreptitiously peek over, but Stiles and surreptitious are not things that go together, at all. Derek rolls his eyes, and lifts the book to show Stiles the cover. _The Anatomy of Being._

“It’s poetry,” Derek says, laying the book back down. “I have a paper due in English, and Laura - my sister - loves this book.” 

“Definitely didn’t expect you to be reading poetry,” Stiles says. He reaches out and taps his fingers against the book. “Can I?” he asks. 

Derek lets him pull the book away, not seeming to mind in the slightest when Stiles flicks through, reading little snippets of the poems, but also Derek’s notations. They’re insightful, Stiles notices, and also kind of heartbreaking. He feels like he’s intruding though, so he hands the book back over and absently turns the pages of his own book. “I could never get into poetry,” he blurts. “It’s too much like prescribed emotion.” 

Derek shrugs. “I like how honest this is,” he says, picking his pencil back up. 

Stiles hums a noncommittal little sound, not sure of what to say to that.“Are you gonna read our baby poetry at bedtime?” he ends up teasing, earning himself a half-hearted baleful glare from Derek. 

“I’m not reading a robot _anything_.” 

“Oh I see, so you’re going to be a half-assed parent,” Stiles shakes his head. “And I’ll be left picking up all the parenting slack with our little Han.” 

“Veto,” Derek says. 

“Are you veto-ing my name choice?” 

“Yes. Next option?” 

“Luk-“

“Veto.”

“Ugh. _Fine._ L-“

“If you say Leia, I’m going to punch you.” 

“Why do you hate nice things?” 

“I don’t hate nice things. I hate your name choices.” 

“But they’re classic! Don’t you want our kid to be happy?” 

“I’m not particularly concerned with the happiness of a non-sentient robot, no.” 

Stiles gasps, looking horrified. “ _Dude_. Commit to the process.” 

“I’m as committed as I’m gonna get Stiles. Next name?” 

“Don’t we need it’s gender first?” 

“It’s a robot.” 

“Okay, okay. Well… how about Dana.” 

“What’s that from?” 

“Seriously? Because A) can’t I just pick a nice name without it being _from_ something? I’m not a slave to pop culture you know. And B) how do you not recognise Scully’s first name, _immediately?_ She’s a goddess!” 

“Your second point entirely obliterated your attempt at making the first point, and okay. Dana. I like Dana. And I concur. She’s a goddess.” 

“So there we go. Dana. Dana Stilinski-Hale.” 

“Poor kid,” Derek murmurs. He rummages in his bag, and pulls out a bottle of water, and a pack of Reeses Pieces. Stiles watches him opening the bag, tipping some out into his hand. Pouring them into his mouth. “It’s like being watched by a badly trained dog,” Derek huffs, shaking the bag a little and holding it out. Stiles immediately cups his hands, ready for yummy goodness. 

“That’s twice you and your cronies have insinuated that I’m a pet today,” Stiles says, cramming candy into his mouth. “I think I might be insulted,” he garbles. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Derek sighs, popping a single bit of candy into his mouth and crunching. 

“You’re not my dad,” Stiles says obnoxiously, around the half-chewed Reeses. 

“No but I’m your co-parent Stiles, and we don’t want Dana to pick up bad habits, do we?” 

Stiles makes a happy, albeit muffled, sound and beams at Derek. His earlier misgivings and grumps are more or less gone now, and dude, they’re going to make _awesome_ daddies. 

****

They pick up Dana at the end of the week, Coach having decided it makes most sense to give them the burdensome babies when they have the weekend to get acclimated to parenthood before having to drag the little wailing bundles in to school with them. Everyone is given the basic equipment. A robot baby, dressed in a little pink or blue outfit (because gender norms, Stiles scoffs to himself), and a spare diaper with a lurid green crotch piece that houses a sensor, two wrist bands that sync them up with the baby, and a bottle with another sensor. It’s all strangely high-techy-techy, compared to the flour babies his dad had said he’d used, in between his bouts of laughter at the mere idea of Stiles being parent to a robot. The instructions told them the basics about how to not mishandle their baby, and how they’d need to identify if it was cold, wanted rocking, feeding, or changing when it would inevitably cry. 

Stiles lifts the baby from its box, the wristband secured, and immediately passes it on to Derek. It’s heavier than he’d expected, and also he doesn’t want to be the first to make it cry. Or drop it. That was a definite possibility. 

Derek takes Dana with practised ease, holding her comfortably in one arm and tugging her hood up over her plastic head, painted with brown hair. 

“Show off,” Stiles mumbles, gratified to hear Coach shouting at Greenberg for being a terrible parent. Apparently, Greenberg had already nearly broken his baby. At least Stiles hasn’t broken theirs, what with having held it for all of 5 seconds. “It’s creepy. It has a creepy little smile on it’s creepy face. Babies don’t smile like that.” 

“Dude!” Scott comes bustling over, cradling his little plastic bundle. Danny is following him with a bemused smile. “Meet Allison!” 

Stiles squints, and opens his mouth soundlessly. “Wait, you named your fake baby after your _girlfriend_?”

“Yeah,” Scott grins. 

Stiles nods slowly and claps Scott on the shoulder. “Okay then buddy,” he says, not even wanting to begin going into all the things that are so very wrong with that. He catches Danny’s eye, and sees him shaking his head, grinning. 

“Scott you’re taking, um, Allison, tonight, right?” Danny asks. Jackson, now standing sans baby beside Danny, snorts. 

“Yeah! I want to introduce her to real Allison,” Scott explains. 

“Good luck with that,” Danny says, sounding sincere in spite of his smirk. “I’ll text you tomorrow morning to sort out a pick up.” 

“You’re going solo already?” Stiles asks, horrified. He already doesn’t want to be left alone with Dana, _and_ he’s supposed to take her tonight. 

“Yeah dude, it’ll be fine. Plus, Allison will be there. Adult Allison,” he amends with a little confused face. 

Stiles can’t help but grin, overcome with affection for Scott. “Sure dude, _great_ name choice,” he says. 

“Stiles, we should go,” Derek interjects, baby in one arm and little bag of baby accoutrements in his other hand. 

“Okay, sure. Call me tonight?” he reminds Scott, backing up. 

Scott nods, trying to mimic the way Derek is holding Dana so he can get his own bag of stuff. “‘Kay,” he mumbles, distracted. 

Stiles turns and saunters out of the gym, strolling along with Derek beside him, not a care in the world until they reach Derek’s Camaro and Stiles realises he’ll have to hold the baby in the car. 

“Can’t I drive?” he wheedles. 

“That’s never gonna happen,” Derek says flatly. Stiles scowls, and opens the passenger door, making sure to pause and glare at Derek just so he fully appreciates exactly how unhappy Stiles is about this all. Derek gives him a blinding smile and points at the passenger seat. When Stiles is settled, Derek arranges his arms so he’s supporting Dana correctly and gets in the driver side. Of course the engine starts with a smooth purr, so very unlike Stiles’ beloved jeep, and pulls out without juddering even once. 

Stiles is honestly half-surprised old school rock music doesn’t start playing when the radio comes on. Instead it’s just generic chart music. For the first few minutes, Stiles is stiff and hyper-aware of the robot-baby, but he soon relaxes, humming along and eventually singing softly at the little vacant plastic face looking up at him. It’s still creepy, but also a little cute. 

Derek pulls up in the Stilinski driveway, coming around to open the passenger door for Stiles. It’s not until they get to the front door that Stiles halts, mouth dropping open. “Dude! I held the thing!” 

“Yeah…” Derek agrees, confused. 

“No dude. I mean I held the thingy and I walked and didn’t drop it! I’m like a pro at parenting!” 

Derek rolls his eyes, and looks unimpressed. “Now are you gonna let us into your house? Robo-Baby gets cold you know.” 

Stiles cradles her tighter, checks her head support, and removes one hand to open the door with his keys. He manages this successfully and crows loudly. 

“And right there, if that was a real kid, you’d have scared it awake and made it cry.” 

“Whatever dude, I’m _killing it_.” 

“Not a great turn of phrase when holding a baby, just FYI.” 

Stiles chuffs a little laugh and trots into the front room. “Where can I put her down?” he asks. 

“Anywhere,” Derek says, exasperated. “Because she’s a _robot_ and _doesn’t move_.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes and places her carefully on the sofa, moving off to go find them after-school snacks, because the best bit of school is the after-school snack. He’ll fight anyone who says otherwise. 

They’ve been home for maybe ten minutes when Dana begins crying. It’s a truly horrible sound. Stiles decides it’s a sign of evolution at it’s finest, because anyone who has to hear that caterwauling will do anything in their power to make it stop. So baby cries are actually really effective. Kudos to Mother Nature for that one. 

Baby Dana is fed, burped, changed, and rocked by Derek, all within the first two hours, and then Derek announces he has to leave, no matter how much Stiles begs him to stay. Or better yet, to leave _and_ take the baby with him. Derek pats him on the head, pokes Dana in the solid little belly, and strolls on out the door to freedom. With only a backwards look so he can be smug and smirk. The bastard. 

Stiles still texts him less than five minute later, shamelessly begging him to come back. 

 ****

Evening One is a success. Stiles suspects he may be a natural at this parenting thing, and is planning on congratulating himself with a little bit of porn when he realises just how messed up that is. Robo-Baby or not, he can’t just _do that_ with her sitting in his pulled out bottom drawer. 

He just can’t. 

Grimacing, Stiles flops onto his bed in his boxers and opens up Netflix in a new tab, listlessly scrolling through to find something to watch. He always does this. Spends hours scrolling and no time actually watching because by the time he’s picked something he’s too tired to focus on it. Such is his life. 

He decides to watch Family Guy, letting it play from wherever it was left off when he last watched, and settles back on his bed, propped up on pillows. He’s been texting Derek and Scott on and off all night, but they’ve both been quiet for a while. It’s about five to midnight and he’s just starting to feel sleepy, dreading the coming night because he just knows Robo-Baby is going to wake him up, probably many, _many_ times. He’s going to really have to stop himself from sticking her under the sofa where he won’t be able to hear her screeching. He just knows it. 

He’s fallen into a light doze, that space between awake and asleep where he’ll be particularly susceptible to the whole jerky-body sudden wake up thing that sometimes happens. _Hypnic jerk_ , his brain helpfully supplies. Anyway, he’s lightly dozing, feeling all loose and fuzzy, when he hears something suspiciously like fabric rustling, and then a snuffle. 

Stiles freezes, holds his breath, and strains his ears to listen. 

Immediately, he regrets that. A piercing cry shatters the quiet of his room and he kicks off his sheets and rolls to his feet in a panicked flurry of movement. Then stops. And stares. Exhales a few creative expletives that he probably shouldn’t be saying in the presence of an infant. 

An infant that is now very decidedly NOT a robotic baby any longer. 

The (living) baby is waving it’s arms in the air, grasping at nothing, face scrunched up and getting progressively redder as its cries manage to increase in volume and intensity. 

“Holy fuck,” Stiles cries, shaking his head and scrubbing both his hands in his hair. His phone starts trilling, vibrating against his desk, but he ignores it in favour of crouching by the baby. “Dana?” he asks, then pulls a face at himself. It’s not like the baby is actually going to respond. 

Dana hiccups loudly and lets out another cry, so Stiles scoops her up carefully, bringing her to his shoulder and rocking slightly. Downside being her cries are closer to his ears, and therefore louder. 

He bounces her lightly and bobs towards his desk, finding an onslaught of texts from Scott. Stiles pokes at his phone and catches his breath at Scott’s panicked messages. 

_-Stiles I think am gon insane_

_-Robot baby came2 life Stiles_

_-Is your baby alive? Plz reply_

_-Holy shit dude, what doI do w this?_

_-Answer ur fuckin phone!_

Stiles makes nonsense sounds at the baby, wilfully ignoring how frantic he sounds and hoping Dana can’t pick up on his anxiety as he scrolls to find Derek in his contact list. He presses call and hits speaker phone, pacing and bobbing the baby. 

“Stiles it’s gone midnight,” Derek says in lieu of greeting. 

“Oh really Derek? Thanks for informing me of the time, it’s not like I have a working cell phone or anything, and hey, here I thought you were an 18 year old guy, not an 80 year old grandmother, so forgive me for thinking you _might_ be awake after midnight on a Friday fucking night…” Stiles chokes out, pausing only for a deep inhale. “…Oh and by the way, just to get back around to the whole reason I’m calling, in case you couldn’t hear for yourself, but the baby? The baby is an _actual baby_ and won’t stop crying!” 

“Stiles just do the wristband thing and try feeding it,” Derek huffs, sounding cranky and tired. It would be kind of cute, if Stiles’ universe wasn’t exploding. 

“DEREK! _Listen_ to me. Robo-Baby is no longer a robot, but is an _actual_ baby. As in warm and squishy and breakable, and oh God I don’t have baby appropriate food! What if it poops? It doesn’t have a real diaper on Derek!” 

“Stiles calm down-”

“By the way Derek, the least helpful thing to say to a person who is freaking out? Is **_calm down_**!” 

“Well you really need to. Look I’m on my way okay?” Derek said, sounding remarkably calm. But then again, he didn’t have some magical baby in his arms. “Stay on the phone with me, but just try being calm and quiet for the baby. She can probably pick up on your anxiety.” 

“Oh God I’m already the world’s worst parent,” Stiles hisses. He can see the logic though, so he quietens down and cradles Dana close, stroking his hand down her back. She hiccups, but her cries do seem to be losing some volume. 

“See it’s all okay,” Derek assures him. The sound of the Camaro engine is strangely soothing to Stiles, because it means Derek is on his way. 

“Okay, okay,” Stiles hums lowly. “I need to call Scotty. His baby is all I’m-a-real-girl too,” he says in a hushed voice. 

Dana is snuffling wetly, but no longer actively screeching. Stiles is counting that as a victory, and it does wonders for soothing his frayed nerves. Call it false confidence, but he’ll take whatever he can get.

“All right. I’ll be there soon,” Derek promises. 

Stiles sits back against his headboard and the baby splays out on his chest, her head under his chin. He pokes at her lip curiously, and she tries to suckle on his finger, little hands curling around his forefinger. 

He _might_ melt a little inside at that. 

Scott is frantic when he answers Stiles’ call. “Oh my God Stiles, is this real? This can’t be real, I’m dreaming, right?” 

“Scotty, you need to take a deep breath bro, just inhale and exhale with me. You got your inhaler nearby?” 

Scott inhales a wheezy breath. 

“Seriously Scott, go get your inhaler.” Stiles can’t hear baby Allison crying, so at least there is that.

“Dude,” Scott breathes, voice less squeaky now.

“I know man, I know. It’s happening here too,” Stiles says, smoothing a hand over Dana’s soft dark hair. “Have you called Danny?” 

“No, did you call Derek?” 

“Yeah he’s on his way. Scotty, did we like, wake up on the Hellmouth this morning?” 

“I don’t understand that reference.” 

“Buffy? You know the episode with the eggs?” 

“…”

“You’re a heathen,” Stiles huffs. “Isn’t he Dana. Uncle Scott’s a heathen.” 

“Are you talking to the baby??” 

“Well yeah dude. Are you just ignoring yours?” 

“Kind of. It’s quiet now, and I don’t want to make it start crying again.” 

“You should call Danny. For like, baby stuff. He has little siblings right?” 

“I think so?” 

“Give him a call. Or Allison. Someone who can bring you stuff.” Stiles stands carefully and lowers a quiet Dana into the drawer, tucking her up in an old shirt. 

“What kind of stuff?” Scott asks, voice quiet. Stiles fusses with the baby a little more, and promptly falls back on his ass when his window scrapes open and Derek Hale climbs on through as though it was No Big Deal. 

“Stiles? Are you okay? Stiles!” Scott’s tinny little voice is calling. Stiles gawks up at Derek from his vantage point on the floor, whilst Derek stares at baby Dana, looking poleaxed. 

“I gotta go man, Derek’s here. Call Danny,” Stiles says as he scrambles up to end the call. And to drag on some clothes, because he is currently only in boxers and suddenly shockingly aware of that fact.

Not that Derek is paying _any_ attention to him. He’s lifting Dana into his arms and smiling at her so fucking softly it makes Stiles want to scream. He suddenly understands what Erica had meant, with absolute and startling clarity. If he was in possession of ovaries, they would most definitely, completely, wholeheartedly, be violently exploding. 

He shakes his head and yanks on his sweatpants and a t-shirt, moving to stand by Derek. 

“You don’t seem freaked out by this,” he comments, reaching out and wiggling his forefinger at Dana. She grabs it again and tugs his hand to her mouth, gumming wetly at him. It’s a little bit gross, but also a little bit cute, which, in Stiles’ opinion, sums up babies in general.

“She’s going to need food and stuff,” Derek says, glancing up at Stiles. He looks all bed soft, his hair un-gelled and mussed, with a noticeable lack of leather and denim on. He’s all pettable-looking cotton instead. And holding a fricking baby. 

“I’ll um. I can go do that?” 

“Do you even know what a baby eats Stiles?” 

Stiles waggles his phone at Derek. “Google, Derek. It’s an amazing invention. A whole wealth of knowledge at your fingertips.” 

“Less talking, more buying Stiles,” Derek says, pulling out his wallet and tossing it at Stiles.Stiles fumbles the catch, and glares as he stomps into his shoes. 

“I’ll be back in twenty,” Stiles says. 

****

Stiles trips his way back into the house, once again thanking the universe that his dad was on an overnight shift. He has formula, a bottle, diapers and all that assorted poop-related miscellany that he’s most definitely not going to acquaint himself with - that can be Derek’s territory, thank you very much - and a healthy respect for parents the world over because he absolutely did not realise how expensive babies were until this moment in time. 

Dana is quiet as far as he can tell, so Stiles takes his haul upstairs, eyes gritty because it’s quite literally the middle of the night, and nudges his door open with the toe of his sneaker. “Okay, I come bearing…” Stiles trails off and blinks dumbly at the sight before him. 

Derek is laid out on his bed, shoulders and head propped up with the assistance of pillows and the headboard, and his face is lax with sleep. Not in an openmouthed and slack way, but in a way that makes him look vulnerable and innocent. Dana is sprawled on her front, tiny little hand bunched up in Derek’s shirt and sleeping soundly. _Her_ face is slack and openmouthed and she’s getting drool everywhere. Once again, gross and cute, thinks Stiles, dropping the bags carefully on the floor so as not to wake either of them. 

He isn’t sure what to do with himself, so he just stands there, running his fingers over his cheek and taking a moment to actually really acknowledge that the robot baby is somehow alive and fleshy and squidgy. It’s really not too big a leap of faith for him to believe in magic; he’d always liked the idea of there being more out there than meets the eye, and the reality of it is kind of exciting.

“Stiles get in bed and go to sleep whilst you can,” Derek says lowly, his voice a gentle rumble in the quiet of the room. Stiles hadn’t noticed he was even awake. 

“That sounds ominous,” Stiles says, shrugging out of his hoodie and toeing off his sneakers. 

“Obviously you have zero experience with babies,” Derek drawls, running one hand down Dana’s back when she stirs slightly. “Like I said, take the chance of sleep whilst you can.” 

“That sounds worryingly like you think this is going to be an actual thing that lasts for a while. Dude, I’m still half expecting to wake up at any moment and have this all be some crazy dream induced by too much Red Bull and Wiki-holes.” 

“The more you speak, the more likely it is she’ll wake,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles’ babbling. Stiles huffs, but he gets that Derek has a point. 

“So um. We’re sharing the bed? That’s a thing that’s happening, right now.” 

“Yes,” Derek sighs, careful not to jostle Dana too much. It’s a muted sigh and yet expresses so very much. 

Stiles holds his hands up in surrender and glowers at Derek, seeing as he’s on Stiles’ side of the bed. From the toothy grin he gets in return, Stiles can be pretty sure that Derek knows he’s commandeered Stiles’ side _and_ is currently propped up on Stiles’ pillow, and how, exactly, is Stiles supposed to get _any_ sleep under these circumstances?! 

“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation or something Stilinski?” Derek asks, eyeballing Stiles as he hovers by the bed. Stiles glares and carefully eases himself into bed, tugging fruitlessly at the blanket where it’s stuck underneath the ten-ton dead weight that is a smirking Derek Hale right now. 

“I hate you,” Stiles grumbles, snuggling down as best he can. He’s still scowling even when he closes his eyes, but he’s tired enough that nothing really matters but sleep. 

Blissful, sweet sleep. 

A snatch of sleep, broken by the wailing of a demon child from hell who is quite possibly a banshee or something equally noisy. Because that level of sound should _not_ be coming out of something so small. Stiles jolts awake, flails out of his bed, and lands gracelessly on the floor. He proceeds to crawl over to the bag of baby supplies in the hopes of finding something that will silence the yowling. 

It’s either that or Stiles is going to start crying too, because he’s just _so tired._

“She’s hungry,” Derek declares, standing smoothly with the baby in his arms, pacing and bouncing her lightly. Stiles grunts something unintelligible and proceeds to thump his way down the stairs on autopilot, heading to the kitchen. He’d Googled this bit at least, so he knows to sterilise the bottles and use boiled tap water in the kettle for the actual mix. He goes about getting that started, washing his hands and is wiping down the work top when Derek and Dana enter the kitchen. Dana is making a hiccupy crying sound that hurts Stiles’ throat just to listen to, but Derek seems fairly contented just pacing with her. 

Though he does look pained whenever she lets out a particularly loud squawk of sound. Stiles can feel his pain, because it isn’t a good sound at all, and he himself is flinching a little each time she squalls and she isn’t pressed right up against him.He runs the prepared bottle under the cold tap to cool the formula inside, yawning wide and loudly before passing it over to Derek. 

“Give me your arm,” Derek orders, holding the bottle in one hand. Stiles sticks his arm out and sways slightly on the spot, near delirious with tiredness thanks to too many wake-ups, and barely registers it when Derek shakes drops of tepid formula on his inner wrist. Stiles absently licks his wrist clean afterwards, grimacing at the taste, and leans back against the counter because his limbs feel far too heavy for his spine to be able to keep them all upright and in order. Baby Dana latches onto the little nipple as soon as it is within distance, and suckles happily, finally silent but for the slight smacking sound. 

“Bed now?” Stiles asks hopefully, slightly slurring. Derek, looking unfairly put together all things considered, nods, but he only has eyes for Dana. Stiles trudges back up to bed, not caring that Derek doesn’t immediately follow, and takes the opportunity to gleefully reclaim his pillow, his bed, and his blanket. He’s happily cocooned and asleep within seconds. 

****

“What the hell is going on?” Scott asks, almost before Stiles has even fully opened the door. Danny and Scott are standing on his doorstep, both looking fraught and exhausted. Baby Allison is swaddled in Danny’s arms, blinking her big brown eyes up at Danny. 

“How’m I sposed to know?” Stiles retorts tiredly, padding back into the house in search of coffee, leaving Scott and Danny to follow him. His dad is due back any minute and Stiles can’t even begin to work out how he’s going to explain the baby away to him. 

“You always at least have a theory about what’s going on!” Scott exclaims, bustling into the kitchen on Stiles’ heels. He’s very noisy and excitable this morning. Stiles waves a hand around, trying to shush Scott because he has a headache and Scott’s voice is _not_ helping matters. 

He’s slumped at the kitchen table with Scott and Danny when Derek comes downstairs, a freshly fed and changed Dana in his arms. She’s waving her little hands around and making a happy sound that is equally cute and infuriating, seeing as how she’s the root cause of Stiles’ misery right now but he just can’t bring himself to resent her for it. He automatically offers up his finger for her to grab when Derek sits down next to him, using his finger to waggle her hands around. He is peripherally aware of Derek saying hi to everyone, and he pushes over his half-full cup of coffee to Derek, taking Dana from him so he can drink down the rest of the cup. 

Their night had been a trial to say the least, and Stiles likes to think they’ve bonded over the hardships of parenthood. Sometime between the first and second feedings, the two diaper changes, the burping, and the one time they couldn’t figure out what was wrong at all (but cuddles had helped), they’d formed a solidarity. 

“Calm the judgy face dude,” Stiles sighs at Scott who is looking suspiciously at Stiles and Derek. “It’s been a long night okay?” 

“Tell me about it,” Danny mumbles, shooting a glare at Scott. 

“I don’t have any experience with babies!” Scott protests mulishly. 

Danny rolls his eyes and looks at Derek like he is the second coming of the messiah when he places a cup of coffee in front of him. 

“Isaac and Boyd say their babies have done the same thing,” Derek says, settling back into his chair. “I guess the whole lacrosse team is affected.” 

“By magical robot babies?” Stiles asks, rubbing the pad of his forefinger against Dana’s cheek. It’s very soft, and she seems to like the contact if the little sounds she’s making are anything to go by. 

“Essentially, yes.” 

“Perfect,” Stiles sighs. He looks up and sees Derek watching him and Dana, with a look plastered all over his face that Stiles can’t really place, before he abruptly scowls, and goes very still, as though on high alert. “Dude, you okay over there?” Stiles asks, poking Derek in the shoulder. Derek opens his mouth, just as Stiles hears the sound of his dad putting his key in the lock, and now he’s doing a frozen meerkat impersonation too. He doesn’t move, even at the sound of his dad’s booted feet making their way closer to the kitchen. 

“What’s with all the cars out front kiddo?” his dad asks, popping his head around the doorframe. He looks weary, blue eyes a little bloodshot as he blinks at the collective of teenage boys in his kitchen. “All enjoying the parenthood gig?” he asks them, looking at Dana and Allison. And that’s it. No double-takes, no shock… just a glance and then he’s looking away, as though nothing unusual is happening at all. 

“Wait dad!” Stiles calls out, cradling Dana close and walking over to his dad. “You haven’t met Dana yet,” he says slowly. Dana waves her arms around and makes a little gurgling sound. 

“I’m surprised you haven’t just taken out the battery pack yet kid, you look beat,” Stiles’ dad says, again barely sparing a glance at the baby held in Stiles’ arms. 

“Taking out the battery pack…” Stiles repeats slowly. 

“Hell of a lot more advanced than the sack of flour I had,” his dad says, poking Dana in the stomach. She frowns up at him, but doesn’t make a sound. “The expression is a little unsettling though.” 

“That’s what I said,” Stiles proclaims, shooting a look at Derek who had told Stiles’ he was an idiot when he’d complained about it’s creepy face. Derek is frowning, watching Stiles and his dad, and it gets Stiles back on track. Because, oh yeah, right. Apparently his dad just sees a robot baby and not the actual squirmy living thing that Stiles is currently holding. Which, it goes without saying, is weird. An extra helping of weird on top of all the other weird that is already going on. 

“I’m turning in. You boys be quiet and try to keep the children from screaming,” his dad says, giving the boys a nod of acknowledgement and tiredly making his way to the staircase. 

“He couldn’t see her,” Stiles hisses at Derek, “why couldn’t he see her?” 

“I think we should ask my mom,” Derek says slowly, reluctantly. 

“Dude, what’s your mom gonna do? Unless she can do magic, I don’t see how it’s gonna help,” Stiles says.

“She can’t do magic Stiles,” Derek says flatly, bringing up a hand to scratch his cheek. “But she might be able to help anyway,” he says vaguely. 

And then Baby Allison makes a hicuppy sound that makes Scott flinch and Danny tense up. It sounds just like the precursor to a huge wail, so Stiles hustles them up and out of the house, shoving them towards Danny’s car with the instruction of meeting back up at the Hales. Anything to make sure Baby Allison’s screams don’t set off Dana. 

Stiles just isn’t sure he can cope with a screaming Dana right now. 

****

Stiles is nervously shifting from foot to foot as they all stand around in a beautifully appointed study under the watchful eye of Talia Hale. She is a striking woman, tall and lithe, and she exudes strength and calmness. Her eyes are concerned, a shifting hazel that reminds Stiles of Derek’s eyes, as she surveys the six teenage boys in her study. Boyd and Isaac have both joined them, and Boyd cradles a baby boy who looks impossibly small in Boyd’s strong arms, but he handles him with such infinite care. He’s a world away from the behemoth who has mowed Stiles down on the lacrosse pitch a time or two. 

“Mom,” Derek says, eyes darting over to Isaac and Boyd. “What do you see?” He proffers baby Dana to his mother, who carefully takes the baby with tentative hands, frowning at Derek when he doesn’t relinquish his hold until his mom is supporting the baby properly. 

“This is your school project,” Talia says, her voice clear and lilting. There’s a core of authority in her voice though, and she speaks with certainty. 

“Yeah, it is, but what do you _see_?” 

Talia purses her lips ever so slightly, and gazes down at Dana. She inhales deeply, and frowns. “I see the robot child assigned to you by your Coach,” she finally says, but she sounds less certain. 

“Mom,” Derek says, sounding a little urgent. Talia reaches out a hand and smoothes her palm over Derek’s hair, and turns away, still holding Dana. Stiles watches her inhale deeply again, sees her shoulders stiffen, though had he not been paying such rapt attention he likely would have never noticed it. 

“Derek explain to me what has been going on,” Talia says.

“I don’t know,” Derek says, sounding frustrated. 

“Let me give it a shot,” Stiles interjects, walking over. “May I?” he asks, reaching out to take Dana back. He feels uncomfortable when it isn’t he or Derek holding her, and he’s not going to look too closely at that feeling, he’s just going to run with it for the time being. “We were assigned these Robo-Babies, and it was all going as expected, until around… midnight? I think it was? Anyway, I was dozing and Robo-Baby was all snug as a bug in her drawer, and then boom. Suddenly she’s not Robo-Baby anymore, but is actual real, squirmy, actual baby, with drool and poop and all of that stuff. And my God, the crying. So much crying. You see a robot when you look at her? Well I see Dana. Actual flesh and blood baby Dana. And Danny has baby Allison, and Boyd has… a boy whose name I don’t actually know -“ 

“Sean.”

“Baby Sean. Real, live babies, who _used_ to be robots and are now magically real babies that adults _can’t see_!” Stiles spews, aware of the increasingly pitchy and hysterical tone to his voice. “Oh my God,” he breathes out, grateful when Derek takes Dana from him so he can pace around and shake his hands out, needing motion. Derek stops him with a hand on the back of his neck, and the warm solidity of the touch drains away some of Stiles’ frenetic nervousness. 

Talia is looking stymied and more than a little worried now. “Is this affecting all of the students given babies?” 

“It was only the lacrosse team for the first round of parenting hell,” Stiles says, leaning slightly against Derek’s shoulder. He’s vaguely aware that it’s weird how much comfort he finds in touching Derek, a dude he literally had never spoken to a week ago or so, but he’s taking comfort where he can get it. 

“Call your teammates and have them come here Derek,” Talia orders, her gaze lingering ever so slightly on Derek and Stiles’ point of contact and she narrows her eyes at them for a moment. 

Stiles leans a little firmer against Derek. 

“I’ll call for Deaton,” she says, walking from the room, and giving Isaac a squeeze on his shoulder as she passes. They divide the team up between them and each call around to their teammates, all of whom are freaking the hell out and promise to get to the Hale house ASAP because _none_ of them are coping. Greenberg actually sobs down the phone at Stiles he’s so overwhelmed. 

In short order, Stiles is huddled beside Talias desk with Derek, Boyd, and Scott, and the rest of the lacrosse team are all bundled up around the big plush rug on the floor where there are rows of tiny babies, all kicking their legs about and generally doing A+ imitations of bugs stuck on their backs. 

Deaton is smiling a benevolent smile and grinding something down into a powder in a well used mortar and pestle, and whatever it is makes Boyd, Derek and Talia all sneeze and chuff, though Stiles and Scott are both fine. Stiles guesses they just don’t have as sensitive noses as the others or something. 

Deaton pours liquid from a stoppered glass bottle into the bowl and dips his finger into the paste. He presses his wet finger to Allison’s head. Almost as soon as contact is made, Allison’s movements become jerky and stiff, and eventually she falls still and rigid, and Stiles is horrified and scared for the baby until he realises she’s a robotic doll again. All vacant smile and painted on brown eyes. Deaton repeats the actions with Sean, and this time Stiles tries to pinpoint the moment the baby goes from being real to robot, but it’s like he blinks and misses it. One second baby Sean is moving with stiff little fleshy arms and then suddenly he’s a doll. 

Stiles thinks he might actually have weird nightmares about this for a while, because it’s seriously creepy. So creepy, that when Deaton moves towards Dana, Stiles cradles her close and steps back. Which is stupid, he knows, but he feels less stupid because Derek lets out a dangerous rumble of sound that is borderline inhuman and has Talia gripping his arm tightly. 

“Derek,” she says quietly, and that’s all it takes for Derek to subside, his body still tense but he steps back, keeping his eyes on Deaton. 

“Perhaps I’ll deal with the others first,” Deaton suggests, moving to the rug. One by one the babies are changed, and in barely any time at all the rug is littered with little robots and every single boy on the Beacon Hills lacrosse team looks like they could weep tears of relief. And sleep for about a week. 

“What the hell is going on?” Jackson demands, because of course it’s Jackson demanding. Everyone else just looks grateful at this point. 

“An illusion,” Deaton says vaguely. “Harmless enough, just a little mischief. Nothing to worry about.” 

“I’ll sue the Goddamn company,” Jackson hisses, riling himself up. “Whoever Coach got these things from, I’m going to sue.” Danny goes over to him and tugs him back into the milling group of lacrosse players, speaking quietly. 

Whatever he says works, because Jackson goes quiet though he’s still obviously grinding his teeth in anger. Stiles doesn’t really understand how Danny and Jackson are friends, seeing as how they seem to be the absolute antithesis of each other, but he’s grateful that they have a Danny to help corral Jackson. 

“You can all return to your homes, and the dolls will stay dolls,” Talia says, opening the study doors and exchanging a few words with most of the boys as they file out. It’s pretty anticlimactic to be honest, though Stiles doesn’t know what he was expecting exactly. But he thinks Harry Potter may have lied to him about how cool magic actually is. 

Soon it’s only Stiles and Derek left with Talia and Deaton, and Dana is making a wet gummy sound and clutching Derek’s finger. Stiles is going to miss this, he realises. Not that he wants to be a dad right now or anything, but he’ll miss it anyway. 

“Stiles, would you like to be the one to change Dana back?” Deaton asks, holding the bowl of paste stuff out to Stiles. He looks up at Derek and Derek nods, moving to take Dana. 

“You should do it,” Derek agrees, eyes locked on Stiles’. Stiles pokes a finger into the paste, scooping some up and rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. It’s grainy and feels weirdly cold, like menthol. 

“I feel weird about this,” Stiles says, looking at Dana. “Like I’m taking something from her.” 

“It’s an illusion,” Derek replies, sounding quiet and sad. “You aren’t taking anything from her Stiles. It isn’t real.” 

“Feels it though,” Stiles says. 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees. 

Stiles stands next to Derek, shoulder to shoulder, both of them leaning on each other and looking down at Dana. “Okay dude, time to say goodbye,” he murmurs. “Bye bye little Goddess,” Stiles says. 

“Bye Dana.” 

Stiles presses his finger to her forehead, lightly moves it over her soft skin, and feels a tremor shoot up his arm. He didn’t take his eyes off of Dana, but he still can’t tell when the illusion shattered. Magic, he guesses.

Derek makes a small sound, one that it almost a whimper, and Stiles nods absently at the doll. It lets out a little mechanical whir, and then begins to giggle. It’s awful, Stiles decides, and Derek must agree because he hands the doll over to his mom without a word and takes off the band he still had fastened around his wrist. 

“You’re welcome to stay for lunch Stiles,” Talia says, holding Robo-Dana carefully. “I’ll take care of this,” she says, gesturing to the doll. 

“Thanks Mom,” Derek says, watching Talia lead Deaton out to the front door. “This is weird,” Derek sighs. 

“You’re telling me dude,” Stiles agrees, rubbing a hand over his chest. “Can we just go do something? Video games, movies, just.. Anything?” 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Yeah,” Derek nods. Stiles follows Derek out to the front of the house. 

“Mom we’re going out. I don’t think we’ll be around for lunch,” Derek says, looking awkward. Or as awkward as Derek ever gets. 

“Okay Der. Just… be safe.” 

Derek nods and ushers Stiles over to the Camaro, folding himself into the low seat with grace and starting up the engine. He pauses, taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, opens his mouth like he wants to speak but doesn’t, and then shakes his head and puts the car in gear. Stiles is staring out the window, watching the trees whizzing by and he doesn’t realise they’re actually in town until Derek is parking and turning off the engine. 

“We’re at the diner,” Stiles says, looking around the familiar parking lot. 

“Your stomach was making crazy noises,” Derek shrugs. “Figured you needed feeding.” 

Stiles nods and pats his stomach. “I can always deal with being fed,” he agrees, climbing out of the car. Derek huffs at him and they head into the diner, both of them settling into a booth and ordering milkshakes with burgers and fries. And onion rings on the side for Derek. 

“We’ve never hung out before,” Stiles says, slouching in his seat and playing with the sugar packets. “It’s weird right? Like, parenthood has kind of made it feel like I’ve known you forever, but it’s actually the first time we’ve hung out outside of school or, you know, because of crazy magic baby drama.” 

“Which you’re handling really well,” Derek comments. “The whole illusory thing.” 

“So are you,” Stiles says evenly. “Though considering your mom knew how to fix it, I’m guessing magic stuff isn’t new to you.” 

Derek stills and inclines his head a little. “Not so much, no.” 

“Figures as much,” Stiles says, wanting to push, to know _everything_ , but he’s smart enough to be able to read Derek’s body language and it’s screaming reluctance right now. The waitress brings them their food, and they eat quietly, both lost in their own thoughts. Stiles still feels a little weird and slightly bereft. But only slightly. He really isn’t ready to be a daddy.

“You think maybe you’d want to?” Derek finally asks quietly, studiously dunking one of his fries in a puddle of ketchup. 

“Huh?” Stiles queries around a mouthful of delicious burger. He can feel the sauce slipping down his fingers, and he’s making such a mess of himself but it’s so tasty he just doesn’t care. 

And Derek’s lips are quirking into a fondly exasperated smile, and Stiles can’t ever regret being the cause of that look on Derek’s face. 

“Hang out. With me.” 

“Uh. We are hanging out. Like right now, this very second,” Stiles says, wiping his hands on a napkin. He already has a small pile of the soiled tissues by his plate, and he’s only halfway through his food. 

“I’m aware of that,” Derek says, sounding slightly frustrated. “Jesus, I mean… I mean that I like you,” Derek huffs, glaring at his plate. “And I want to spend more time with you. If you’d want that. With me.” 

“Is this because we shared the trauma of co-parenting?” Stiles asks, not even joking a little bit. His stomach is currently housing a swarm of butterflies, and it’s possible he’s broken out into a sweat. 

“Yes. No.” 

“Sending me seriously mixed signal here man.” 

“It’s a little of that. Seeing you with Dana was… a lot. But also just hanging out with you… I’ve wondered what that would be like, you know. Before. I didn’t think it was something I could have, but then the pack accepted you and you seemed to actually like being around me when Dana was there and… I just thought maybe we could keep that. For a while.” 

Stiles opens and closes his mouth for a moment, and finally he nods. “Then I’m just gonna put it all out there. Because dude, you’re ridiculously hot, and also not an absolute asshole like I was expecting. You’re only kind of an asshole, but then I am too, so that works. If you were like, sunshine and lightness, we couldn’t be friends. I already have to deal with Scotty so my sunshine quota is all filled up. And I’d like to hang out with you too. And also if making out is something you’d be into, then I’m totally down with that. Like, 100%, no hesitation, A-Okay with that. Just, FYI. Finally. Your pack? Did you accidentally just let slip that you’re…” Stiles halts and glances around at the busy diner. “A hirsute guy with a lunar fixation?” 

After the night they’ve had, werewolves aren’t too much of a leap of faith for Stiles. 

“Seriously?” Derek groans. And then freezes. “Holy shit my mom is going to kill me,” he wheezes. 

“Dude! Oh my God! Seriously?! That’s just… the _coolest_ thing ever. And Boyd? Isaac? Erica? Is Beacon Hills overrun with teen wolves?” Stiles grins, perking up and leaning forward. 

“You aren’t scared?” 

“Of you? Psh,” Stiles scoffs. “Erica, on the other hand, is _terrifying_.” 

“Hey!” Derek exclaims, sounding put out. “I’m scary,” he insists. 

“Sure you are,” Stiles soothes, petting Derek’s hand. “Fearsome wolfy.” 

“Oh my God,” Derek groans.

“I have _so many questions_ ,” Stiles says, brain running at double speed. 

“Of course you do,” Derek sighs. 

“No seriously Derek. So. Many. Questions.” 

“Okay but can we put a pin in those for just a second -“ 

“Is that why you weren’t at school a couple weeks back? Some kind of wolfy pack thing?” 

“How do you even…?” Derek frowns, confusion scrunching up his face like he’s struggling to catch Stiles’ train of thought. “Yeah, it was a family pack thing,” Derek finally says. “Stiles, just focus for a second okay?” 

Stiles blinks and stares at Derek, giving him his full attention. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” Derek says carefully. Stiles nods his agreement. “And we need to let my mom know that you know. Stiles nods again. “And um. If we, you know. Date. Then I need to tell her that too,” Derek says, shifting awkwardly. Stiles nods once more. “And she’ll probably interrogate you. They all will. Pack is protective,” he says. 

“Derek, big guy. Dude. Your family aren’t going to scare me off. My dad is the Sheriff. And he has guns. Besides, we survived magic babies and parenting. Okay it was only one night, but we kicked ass and make an awesome team. ” 

“We do make a good team,” Derek smiles. 

“Hell yeah we do. Add in the aforementioned making out, and we’ll be unstoppable,” Stiles grins. “Team Sterek, all the way.” 

****

It’s four days later that Derek tells Stiles, when they both finally pull back from attempting to eat each other’s faces, that Deaton had called his mom and found out that the robot-baby magic was _a prank_. Two jackasses who hadn’t made the cut for the Lacrosse team, even as benchwarmers like Stiles, had decided to enact a little revenge. And seeing as one of them had an older brother who dabbled in magic, they’d come up with enchanted babies as their way of getting back at the team. 

“Assholes,” Stiles declares, dropping his head back against the seat so that Derek can more freely mouth at his neck, grunting out a sound that is something like agreement Stiles assumes. “Still, I guess in a roundabout way we kind of owe them.” 

“How’d you figure that?” Derek asks, lips brushing Stiles’ jaw. 

“Well, if we hadn’t been paired up, you wouldn’t have realised how awesome I am and come sniffing around me like a dog with a-“ Derek puts his palm over Stiles’ mouth and glares, unmoved as Stiles immediately licks his palm. 

He’d really thought that would work. 

“No dog jokes,” Derek interjects, narrowing his ridiculous eyes at Stiles. Stiles bats his eyelashes at Derek, trying to look innocent. It probably looks like he has something in his eye, but whatever, it works because Derek removes his hand and rolls his eyes. “Why do I like you again?” 

Stiles beams at him and wraps his arms around Derek’s neck when he moves back in to kiss Stiles again. 

“And by the way, I knew how awesome you were before the baby thing,” Derek says, brushing his rough stubble against Stiles’ cheek. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, caught up in the feeling of hot breath on his ear. “Wait hold up,” he says, brain catching up as he bats Derek away. “You thought I was awesome? You looked at me like I was some kind of tiny little puny annoying bug.” 

Derek huffs and his mouth tightens a little, like he’s sucking on a lemon. Which means he’s about to say something he isn’t entirely comfortable saying. “I didn’t know how to approach you or whatever.” 

Stiles blinks, opens his mouth to speak, and then just _grins_. “Dude! You were totally pining from afar! Oh my God!” he crows, waving his hands around for emphasis. “You _pined_ ,” he accuses happily. 

Derek scowls, looks like he wants to shove Stiles out of the car and drive away, but he doesn’t deny anything. Then he inhales deeply, probably breathing in the scent of Stiles’ happiness like an absolute weirdo-wolf, and _blushes._ It’s too much for Stiles, so he crushes his mouth against Derek’s and since he’s smiling so much it’s more teeth than lips that are clashing, but he doesn’t care. 

In the four days they’ve been doing this whole making out thing, Stiles has realised it’s just the best thing ever, and he totally understands why Scott is so hung up on Allison because if kissing her is like kissing Derek is for Stiles, then Scotty is way smarter than Stiles gave him credit for. 

He _never_ wants to stop kissing Derek. 

Of course Robo-Dana chooses that moment to cry, a loud mechanical wailing echoing through the car. “It’s your turn,” Derek says immediately. 

Stiles sighs and grabs her from the backseat. 

_Parenthood. Ugh._


End file.
